The history of the First as it is being developed through the Newsletter and being prepared in book form is, as it should be, an accounting of men who performed feats in the air and on the ground that combined to give the Group its enviable record. Those who are putting said history together are to be congratulated for their efforts.
Finally, by all accounts the 71st did its share in combat along with the, 27th and 94th. I see the narrative of the 71st's activities between its born-again status in August of 1941 and the thinning out process via rotation in 1943 as a story distinct from linked episodes of historic significance. Who cares? A good question. But I thought you might be interested in a bit of subjective background information about the "original" 71st and some of the guys who made it what it was.
As fleshed out in August 1941, the flying personnel of the 71st were not treated as stepchildren of the Group, nor did they look upon themselves as such. But they were, well, different. With only four exceptions (Dickie Bird Wells, Jo Jo Miles, Big John Eiland, and Bucky Harris) the flesher-outers all came from class 41-E from Brooks Advanced school. They were all friends, a band of brothers as Bann would phrase it, who accepted the first four into their fold though Bucky would probably insist that it was the other way around. They had no tradition to uphold, starting with hat-in-the-ring or pouncing eagle logos (Old Baldy Smedley dreamed up the skull and lightning months later) as did those from 41 E who filled in the rosters of the other two squadrons. The pilots of the 71st settled into the role of first among equals.
This was not difficult because, from the very beg inning, the 71st was physically isolated from the rest of the Group by the fact that its designated area was at the extreme north of the flight line at Selfridge, a situation which guaranteed little or no face-to-face contacts with pilots from the 27th or 94th. In addition, there was no common ground for hangar flying inasmuch as the 71st was equipped with P-35s and P-43s while the other two squadrons were flying P-38s and YP 38s.
At that time Rudell wore the bars of a first john. He was second in command but functioned as boss man. Though lie was a de-facto commander lie was far more of a benign father figure than a gung-ho combat-oriented type; he operated in a low-key tension -free environment, for which he should be commended. He didn't even get ruffled when Muldoon proclaimed that "rank among Lieutenant is like honor among whores. " The Brooks Brothers transplants quickly took him to their collective bosoms before lie had a chance to take them to his. Theirs was an un-military but happy family.
Freddy Grambo, (the CO of record), Rudy, and "Pappa" Jenks were the only old hands at flying the 35s and the 43s. Therefore, check-out for the flood of new arrivals amounted to perusing tech orders, initialing the roster to signify that all information contained therein had been read and understood, getting briefings from crew chiefs, then climbing into the tin birds, touching trembling toes to rudder pedals, and flying. One beneficial spin-off from this arrangement was that the new fledglings came to realize immediately that their futures as pilots depended heavily upon the squadron's seasoned ground crews; that there was little practical distance between bars on shoulders and stripes on sleeves. This attitude became ingrained and fostered a sense of freedom within which the likes of the mouse could flourish. That hang-loose technique also allowed Rudy's chicks to develop their own ways of doing things in the air which also, indirectly, encouraged them to follow their own bents as citizen-soldiers on the ground. The 71st's ready room became a sort of club house 'for fun and games, unencumbered by military constraints and p6opled by characters who would be considered outlandish even in-a Grade B movie script.
First, there was the fore-mentioned Poppa Jenks, quiet, serious, college professor type. (But a helluva pilot; lie flew a 43 with mal-functioning prop control from Selfridge to California when war was declared, operating in manual mode all the way). He would have been an asset to any squadron but he had one major tribulation, one that would not have been tolerated in any other outfit. He had a mother, soon dubbed "Mamma" Jenks, who spent much of every day in the ready room, trying to keep things neat and orderly, even invading the change room. She clucked away at the pilots as if she were a mother hen but the Brooks Brothers accepted her as just one more oddball person. As Muldoon quipped, it was better to have her supervising the ready room than to have tier up in the tower critiquing our take-offs and landings. (At war's end "Mama" looked me up at my pre-war address in Altadena where I was refurbishing a house. This time she had her other son -- a writer for Time Magazine -- in tow. Our conversation was brief. I never did figure out what she had in mind.)
After three weeks of training (actually, three weeks of having fun while playing around in the sky with Uncle Sam's toys strapped to our bottoms) the 71st was off to the Louisiana--Georgia-Carolina battle grounds with Rudy in the lead.- Had anybody taken time to study an organizational chart he would have seen the First Pursuit Group Headquarters at the top with strings leading to the 27th and 94th squadrons and the 71st taking up space on the right. So much for the chart. For all practical purposes the 71st was cast adrift to function(?) as an independent unit for the duration of the maneuvers.
A self-contained unit peopled by undisciplined pilots and commanded by a benign leader? That scenario could have been raw meat for an IG investigation but in reality it wasn't. From our teaching days, Robin, you and I had pounded into us the fact that in almost every situation there is a leader within the group just waiting to surface. Such was the case in the 71st. Biq John Eiland assumed that role. Without undermining Rudy he quietly gave the squadron guidance and kept things moving. It was he who nipped the only potential inter-family squabble in the bud. Thusly . .
In October someone on high decreed that four of the 11marrieds" could fly their planes to Selfridge for a weekend with their spouses. To avoid favoritism it was decided that the lucky four should be chosen by lot. One of the less-lucky got one of the "luckies" aside and laid on a sob story. His parents were travelling from many miles away to be with his wife on those dates. It would be his one and only chance to see his folks; wouldn't the lucky one let him go in his place? He would make it up somehow. It was really important. His tearful plea won out.
The story would have ended there, one squadron mate sacrificing for another had not the jerk bragged about his accomplishment and that his parents' visit was just a ploy. Big John got wind of what had been said and slipped some obviously much-used lady's underpants into the pilot's B-4 bag. (Nobody asked where the unmentionables had come from). When the pilot returned he was hopping mad. Thanks to the underpants his trip home had turned into a disaster. John told him why the underpants were there and that ended the matter. The lesson was loud and clear. In the 71st one did not take advantage of a fellow man. It would never have been done as a practical joke. Practical jokes were, had been, and continued to be a mainstay of the squadron but never mean ones.
Rudy and Big John made a great team. Rudy had a way of keeping tensions at bay and John exerted his leadership quietly. The combination paid off when the First finally became a combat group in North Africa. Early on when some of us were riding from briefing to the flight line one of the pilots from one of the other squadrons was nervously blowing up and deflating a condom when his flight leader gave him the word venomously, "Why don't you put that damned thing over your head. Then you'll look like what you really are." The pilot put it away, crushed. What a helluva way to start a mission. It would never have happened in the 71st. The attitudes spawned back in flying school and nurtured from Selfridge on paid off through maneuvers and long afterward. (I have written up our Boy Scout-like activities and our oblivion to the coming events of December, 1942, partially for the fun of it and partially to give progeny a glimpse of history not to be found in text books -- should they ever choose to read it. You are welcome to a copy of it if you would like it.)
The 71st got back to Selfridge on December 2. With the coming of the "Day that will live in infamy" the whole group was off to North Island (California) like a flock of *wild turkeys with the 71st and their tired 35s chugging along behind. For the first time ever the three squadrons worked in consort from a common base . . . sort of.
Ready rooms were still segregated and the 35s and 38s went their separate ways once airborne -- pilots of the 71st and those of the other two squadrons became kissing cousins whose lips never touched.
Early in January used P-38s began to arrive via ferry pilots and the 35s were whisked away. Ground crews of the 71st were given crash courses on engine maintenance, electrical systems, hydraulic systems, etc. by crews from the 27th and 94th. 71st pilots repeated the Selfridge experience -- read the tech orders, initial the roster, get checked out by the newly-checked out crew chiefs, climb in and go. The major contribution by the 27th and 94th pilots was to regale with horror stories of what could go wrong. However, before the squadrons could operate as a group they were again split up with the 27th and 94th going to Mines Field (now LAX) and the 71st was handed the ex-gambling casino and ex-primary flying school at Glendale Municipal airport, near to beautiful downtown Burbank. Outcasts? Not really. For the lads of the 71st the return to isolation was far more an assignment to Shangri-La than banishment to Siberia; it was just another opportunity for the gang to continue its preferable life-style. The newly assigned pilots who joined the squadron just before leaving North Island were more of the same. Without exception they were all great guys. They fitted in so well that it is difficult to dredge up from memory which were the old hands and which were the new.
Without knowing which squadron was which the people of Southern California were probably glad to see the rugged individualists of 71st depart for Merrie Old England. In the short time that the Squadron was at Glendale an armorer accidentally lobbed a 20mm round through a family's living room in the hills of North Hollywood (the P-38 E had four 50 calibers and one 20mm in the nose), someone wounded a kid who was fishing from a half-sunken barge off Malibu (standard procedure was to let fly at the target with a half dozen rounds on return from sea patrol), Bull Mathis shot up part of Glendale when he hauled back on his column while landing without his guns safetied, and Big Ugh Newman was a central player in the Pearl Harbor West attack on Los Angeles on one dark night with the indirect result that thousands of Japanese were herded to prison camps. (I have written that up too if you would like a copy)
The history of the 71st as an integral part of the First Fighter Group does not really click in until operations began at Goxhill in England, or perhaps until the North African campaign got under way. For the first year it had been merely a story of a bunch of guys (the Brooks Brothers and those whom they welcomed aboard) having a ball at government expense. If you found that the squadron was still a bit "different" while you served with it perhaps the foregoing will I help to explain.
Bottom line: I'm sure glad that those days are now only memories.

Bob Naismith